


Sweet Like Honey

by sunnyeclipses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, Dubious Consent, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Abuse, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Pining, Sexual Frustration, Smoking, bc they're both not sober!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnyeclipses/pseuds/sunnyeclipses
Summary: Eighth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be "the best year ever," according to Hermione. Harry's not so sure after Professor McGonagall assigns him the daunting task of restructuring the entire Muggle Studies curriculum with a certain ex-death eater who has been avoiding him since the start of term.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 26
Kudos: 271
Collections: Drarry Strugglefest 2020





	Sweet Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : None of these characters or concepts are mine, everything belongs to JK Rowling/Bloomsbury/Others. This is all in good fun! 
> 
> **CW** : There is one explicit sex scene that is tagged dubcon because they are both not sober when it happened. That being said, it is not non-con at all. 
> 
> This was written for Wynnyfryd's fantastic prompt, and I hope I did it justice! It ran a little longer than I expected, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Lastly, a million and one thank you's to my amazing beta [Gem](https://potter-loves-malfoy.tumblr.com/). This piece was so all over the place before you, and I appreciate your hard work more than anything!

Harry often found himself picturing Professor McGonagall as his replacement Dumbledore.

This seemed like a very Dumbledore thing to do, after all. It wasn’t enough that Harry had been tasked with defeating the darkest wizard of all time, but as a reward for such a feat, he was assigned more work. McGonagall peered down at the two boys in front of her with, what one would call, a sort of humorous expression coloring her sharp features. It seemed a little unnatural to see her face communicate anything more than truly neutral or hopelessly agitated, Harry thought. A small part of Harry expected she would allow him, and his fellow eighth years, to continue their year in peace. But here she was defying his expectations once more. 

Harry gaped at the Professor in front of him, fighting back the urge to say the first thing that came to mind. This was naturally how Hermione would be deeply upset that she had not been included in this venture. Harry pictured she would sprint to McGonagall the second he told her and beg to replace Malfoy entirely, citing her in-depth experience with the Muggle world. In a different year at Hogwarts, Harry posited that her pleas might resonate, and she would be allowed to help him out. But after the mere entertainment coupled with anxiety-inducing intensity on McGonagall’s face, it was evident that her words would fall upon deaf ears. McGonagall had made her decision.

Malfoy responded first, and to this, Harry was perplexed. The Slytherin had avoided him like the Black Plague for the majority of the first few weeks and had neglected to insult him. Harry was becoming worried that his mouth had been cursed shut, or something along those lines. The alternative that Malfoy might not actually care about him anymore was too unbelievable to even consider. Of course, he cared.

“Professor McGonagall, I hardly think this is the right... position for me. My knowledge in this area is limited at best. I feel as though my strengths could be utilized in a different field. Perhaps as a teaching assistant in potions, I heard Professor Slughorn was –”

McGonagall cut him off sharply by raising a single hand in front of her face. Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut. Harry was too busy being astonished by his outburst to comprehend what had actually been said. Certainly, Malfoy wanted out of this arrangement, and so did Harry, but it was out of character for the tosser to offer himself up for something else. To actually attempt to be helpful for once in his life. His politeness toward their Professor had not been forced, it lacked an edge that Harry recognized when Malfoy was trying too hard. The whole situation was nauseatingly disconcerting.

“After all that has happened in our world, I think it is wise to rethink our Muggle Studies classes and how our students’ educations benefit from the curriculum. I believe you two will work well together and bring different strengths and perspectives to the table when reworking the course. You will _both_ learn quite a bit, and I am confident in this. The class you will have refashioned will run as scheduled during our second and third terms.” McGonagall paused, as both Harry and Draco looked as they were about to interrupt, “You wouldn’t doubt my decisions, am I correct?”

She had aimed the question decidedly at Harry, but both boys shook their heads in agreement. They both lacked confidence in her decision; that was at least clear. But Harry would rather spend the rest of his life taking care of Hagrid’s spiders than disagree with the Headmaster of Hogwarts so blatantly and so early on in the school year. He’d have to work up to that sort of thing. 

“Excellent,” she said, but her tone lacked the brightness of the word. “You two have the entirety of the first term to work together on this. To do some research. I expect great things.”

Harry had the decency to look slightly worried, but Draco schooled his face into an expression of ostensibly indifferent. For all Harry knew he could be panicking under the mask, but his outward behavior was surprisingly calm and tolerant. Maybe the next few months wouldn’t be so bad.

He was proved instantly wrong as they left the classroom.

“Malfoy I –”

The blonde turned on him, rage written across his features had turned his eyebrows all pointy. The facade dissipated within seconds. “Potter, this was supposed to be _my_ fucking year. A year away from utter madness and from _you_!” He spat the words out menacingly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Before Harry could formulate a response, he had stalked away and rounded the corner out of sight.

Harry was left standing in the halls, and his knees were a little weak at the interaction. He’d only wanted to ask when they should arrange their first meeting. He supposed he should probably be angrier at their situation, after all, undertaking this project only meant less time with his friends and more time with likely his least favorite person on earth sparing the Dursley’s themselves. But he was surprised his first reaction had been just a touch of apathy. Harry hadn’t wanted to come back for the eighth year, he had craved to dive headfirst into Auror training and pick back up in the real world where he left off. He had not cared to stay attached to the confines and comforts that Hogwarts offered. In a sense, it would always feel like home. But it was a home he had consciously and deliberately grown out of. Hermione had somehow convinced him that his last year of education was vital and would be the most formative of all. If Harry could find a way to deal with the Malfoy situation, he might have agreed with her.

Harry located Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the common room, and after explaining his dilemma, he was met with profound incredulity. Hermione’s reaction was to be expected.

“How could McGonagall not ask me? I would be perfect for this role!” She cried, and Ron patted her on the back comfortingly.

Ron remained disbelieving. “This can’t be allowed, Harry! There has to be something you can do, there’s no way you’ll survive spending so much time with Malfoy until the Christmas holidays!”

When Harry failed to agree immediately, Ron fixed him a confused gaze. “Am I missing something?”

“You’re not, Ron. I mean, you know the last thing I’d want to do is spend so much time with him.” Harry sighed, contemplating how he was going to explain this adequately without being shouted at. “But I just don’t have the energy to argue with anyone about anything right now. I’d rather just keep my head down.”

Ron muttered something under his breath gruffly, but Harry was too bored by their conversation to let it provoke him. Hermione was livid.

“I think I’m going to have a chat with Professor McGonagall, I’ll just be right back,” she said tightly.

Harry caught her arm as she stood from the couch. “Don’t bother honestly, Malfoy tried to argue with her, and it did absolutely nothing.”

Hermione turned back to him, cocking an eyebrow. “And I supposed when you spoke up, it did absolutely nothing either.”

“Er-I mean, I didn’t exactly–”

“That’s what I thought.” She huffed, pulling her arm free and marching out of the common room through the portrait.

Ron let out a low chuckle once Hermione had safely exited the room. “She’s something else.”

“It’s not going to work, you know,” Harry sighed, running a hand through his tangled hair, “McGonagall seemed convinced this was the right thing to do. I don’t even think it’s that much about the class.”

“You didn’t even want to ask if someone else could help you do it?” Ron questioned, his eyes widening in wonder at Harry’s apparent composure. Harry was a little surprised himself at how he’d taken the news.

“I guess I could have. But this seems more like it’s for Malfoy’s benefit than it is for mine. Probably something about house unity and all that.” He waved a hand around lazily. 

“Makes sense actually, McGonagall probably wants you to make sure he doesn’t get up to anything suspicious. Keep an eye on him or something.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled, turning the thought over in his head numerous times, “or something.”

–––

Harry woke the next morning to a bustling dormitory. The year had barely settled into September, and he had forgotten about what it felt like to awaken to a noisy room. He found that he rather appreciated it and laughed heartily alongside Ron when Seamus began throwing pillows at Dean for waking him up with loud snores. Harry wondered how he had slept through the commotion, but he figured he probably had several years’ worth of sleep to catch up on anyway.

Once Seamus and Dean had declared a ceasefire, the group migrated to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry noticed Hermione was nowhere to be found.

“She’s back at McGonagall’s,” Ron answered in response to Harry’s searching eyes.

“I take it yesterday didn’t go very well?” Harry shook his head, “I told her it wouldn’t work.”

“When has that ever stopped her before?” Ron snorted, sitting at the table and promptly piling his plate with sweet pastries. “This is the same girl that used a time turner to attend _extra_ classes. Absolute madness!” Ron leaned away from Harry as he and Seamus engrossed themselves in a conversation about Quidditch.

Harry found his appetite had escaped him. The happy familiarity of the morning had cleared off to reveal reality. Which was double potions with Slytherin’s first thing after their meal. Harry could’ve sworn that the Professors conspired to place Gryffindor’s with their opposites, just for the casual drama of it all. He buttered a slice of toast and took a few tentative bites before leaving the remainder on his plate. Ron chucked the rest in his mouth as they left for their Monday lessons.

The potions classroom was clammy and uncomfortable as always. The heat rose even further when Malfoy entered with what Harry could only identify as his entourage. Zabini stood by his side, only slightly taller than Malfoy himself, but Parkinson and Goyle trailed behind. Oddly enough, Crabbe’s absence was almost tangible. The group seemed unusually disjointed without him.

Harry forgot about such distractions soon after class began. He found Slughorn to be a thousand times more interesting than Snape, bothering to listen during lectures rather than slack off as he had used to do. In class, they focused on healing potions that were quick to brew and easy to make. Harry wished he’d had knowledge of these earlier, thinking back to his time in the Forest of Dean. Hermione would have appreciated the additional information as well. 

She had, of course, completed her set of potions before anyone else.

Harry found himself flustered when he realized he had finished next – it was a rare occurrence. As he began to approach the bench, someone pushed out in front of him. Harry’s hasty slowing charm prevented the vials from crashing against the floor and ruining hours’ worth of tough work. He glared at the blonde in front of him, though Malfoy would not meet his eyes.

Once he had turned in his potions securely at Slughorn’s desk, Harry stormed out behind Malfoy.

“What the hell was that for?” He fought the urge to shout as they emerged from the classroom together. He breathed through his nose to maintain composure, but found it slipping from his grip anyway. 

“I must have bumped you a bit on my way up. I was just _so_ eager to give old Sluggy my potions,” Malfoy murmured, and Harry grew angrier. “I offer you my sincerest apologies.”

To the unknown listener, it might have seemed like Malfoy was actually giving civility a go. Harry knew better than that. 

Harry was seething, and he wasn’t sure why. His indifference from the day before had buried underneath rage and irritation that was clouding any inkling of common sense. He wanted to push Malfoy over like a child. It was even more upsetting to Harry how quickly the roles had shifted back to how they had been before the war. It was rare that Malfoy let go of much of his emotional side anymore, and Harry was startled to see it outside of McGonagall’s office. Even if it were only momentarily. Harry had felt as though somehow, he had the upper hand for a brief instance. It was apparent that he had now lost it.

Harry still had the sense to hold his tongue, as Zabini and Parkinson loomed behind him. He didn’t need three Slytherins on his back, let alone one.

“Tonight, at eight. We will meet outside the kitchens.” Malfoy stated simply, turning on his heels as his friends followed eagerly behind.

“What was that all about?” Zabini asked quietly, but Harry was still well within earshot.

“I was propositioning him, obviously. You know how I like to deflower the angry ones.” Malfoy grinned at Zabini, who promptly threw his head back with laughter. Parkinson didn’t look very happy, but Malfoy’s eyes glittered mischievously. 

Harry was glad they had walked away when they did, because he could feel the warmth of a blush creeping upon his cheeks. He stood with his back toward the stone for minutes before bolting to the common room to gather his thoughts. The coldness from the walls slowed his pulse, if only marginally. He was threatening to bubble over like Goyle’s cauldron had in class, but he was relieved to have held it together. If Malfoy saw him turning as red as a cherry, Harry would never hear the end of it. 

He had never seen Malfoy smile like that before, and Harry found himself wanting to see it more despite his better judgment. There was something raw about the way the Slytherin joked about with his friends. It made him seem more alive than ever before. Harry found himself disgustedly shrugging away the thought. One smile could never make someone like Malfoy completely human.

–––

Harry arrived late, and Malfoy was waiting unimposingly outside of the portrait. His foot tapped impatiently at the stone floors, and his eyes grew cold as he spotted Harry across the way. He straightened up against the statue of which he was leaning against. When Harry caught up to him, he was panting rather unattractively.

“Seven minutes late, Potter.” Malfoy scowled, but it lacked bite. Harry refused a reply, instead watching as Malfoy gently tickled the pear with his wand and let it transform into a sturdy green door handle. Harry was a bit annoyed that Malfoy knew how to get into the kitchens, but he supposed it made sense. Malfoy seemed to know just about everything.

They entered the kitchens to the surprise of a smattering of house-elves. The small creatures were at the boys’ feet immediately, begging to bring them supper or tea. Malfoy allowed for both, and Harry attempted to hide the surprise on his face. He was unaware that they had plans to share a meal together. Harry felt uneasy, especially at the casualness in Malfoy’s tone when he spoke to the elves. He couldn’t help but think of how harsh Lucius was with Dobby and wonder why Malfoy himself wouldn’t reflect those same qualities. It wasn’t as if they were any different. 

Malfoy was quick to sit down at the long wooden table at the center of the room. Harry, however, stood awkwardly for a moment before the blonde raised a single perfect eyebrow in his direction.

“You can sit down. I won’t bite.” His words were cutting and direct, but Draco projected calm, almost relaxed.

Harry wondered what it would be like if Malfoy actually did bite him. But he banished those thoughts quickly, in fear of letting the words settle onto his features. He scolded himself for letting his mind wander like that.

Two plates of some kind of roast appeared on the table in front of them, they smelled heavenly. Eventually, because of the temptation of food, Harry sat at the table. He still hadn’t spoken a word into existence, afraid of what provocation they might start. Malfoy was being polite, and Harry had no intention of ruining that. Yet. 

They ate in silence for a bit before Malfoy spoke, “This isn’t an ideal situation–” He began, but Harry was already interrupting before he could stop himself.

“I _know_ it’s not an ideal situation, but it’s not my fault Malfoy.” He felt his ears go a little red and realized he hadn’t meant to be so defensive.

Malfoy grimaced, “I was hoping we could do this nicely.”

“This is nice.” Harry glowered at his bare plate and back to Malfoy, who had barely touched his chicken.

“Then, we have very different definitions of what nice means.”

Harry let out a scoff but directed it at the table in front of him, eager to look anywhere but at Malfoy.

The blonde rolled his eyes, wiping the corner of his mouth gingerly with a napkin as he pushed away from the table. “I thought we could be courteous about this, instead of sniping at each other like first years. But clearly, I shouldn’t have expected so much from you.”

Harry stood from the table too but bit back a hot retort. Malfoy seemed sincere in what he said, and it was unfair for Harry to turn down an olive branch. Even if he might argue, it was more of a twig. “You’re right,” he said all too quickly, “I’m just not used to, er, being nice to you, is all.”

“Neither am I,” Malfoy said curtly.

“I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.” Harry sat back down at the table, and Malfoy followed suit. _But you started it when you yelled at me, and again when you tried to knock my potions over_ , Harry wanted to say. He kept those thoughts to himself, anyway. 

Malfoy removed a small notebook and quill from the inside of his shirt pocket. The plates in front of them had vanished without so much as a word from the house-elves. Harry wanted to thank them, but when he glanced around the kitchen, it was empty. He instantly felt more uncomfortable in the room alone with Malfoy but had already committed to giving niceties a try.

“I’ve already considered what we should do about this, a bit. It would be most practical to divide the class into three sections, aesthetics, behavior, and culture.” Malfoy began and continued as though he hadn’t noticed Harry’s widening eyes. “Now, I know aesthetics and culture seem similar, but I can assure you they are not.”

“How are they different?” Harry asked faintly. The entire situation felt surreal.

“Aesthetics, I would consider as clothing and style in terms of, well in terms of anything really. For example, home decoration or fashion.” Malfoy jotted notes down on his pad as he went, and Harry was stone-faced watching him work. “While culture, I would categorize as arts and literature. Music too.”

“You seem to have thought about this a lot,” Harry remarked, allowing amusement to bleed into his voice. “Guess I’m not needed here, am I?”

“Don’t be a dolt, Potter. These were my first impressions; I would be embarrassed if I had thought about this ‘a lot’ and only come up with this much.” Malfoy waved his hand at the paper, haphazardly, “The hardest work is going to be the research.”

“The what?” Harry was feeling increasingly removed, but Malfoy only continued. He chatted as if they had been familiars for years, and Harry’s discomfort only grew.

“We need to immerse ourselves in the…Muggle world to understand what we want to prioritize in the curriculum.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose at the statement he had just made, but it was clear he was attempting to stay composed. Harry was fairly impressed by him. This was growth, even if it was just the beginnings.

“I agree, Malfoy.” Harry didn’t have much to say, as his plan seemed reasonable enough. He was already beginning to worry about what they would have to immerse themselves in, though. It was clear Malfoy was a bit of an authoritarian, and Harry couldn’t help but compare him to Hermione in that way.

Fear was plainly evident on Harry’s face because Malfoy’s smile grew wider and wider. As if this were all a sick joke at Harry’s expense. He knew how unbearable it was to have Malfoy in control, and he also knew that Malfoy could sense that. But it wasn’t as though he had any better ideas to counter with.

“Great, then I have our first research outing planned for the weekend.” Malfoy announced, clearing his things from the table briskly, “Meet me after lessons at the library.” 

Harry found himself rolling his eyes, “can we at least meet somewhere else, at least?” 

“Why? Want to hide our illicit relationship, Potter?” Malfoy frowned, but he was teasing. 

“No, I-well, I just would prefer something more private. I can ask McGonnagall if we could have permission to work in Hogsmeade maybe?” 

“Alright, well if you want _privacy_. I wouldn’t be opposed if you were to ask. They _would_ make exceptions for you.” Draco rolled his eyes, “we’ll do a couple times a week then.” 

“A couple times a week?” Harry asked weakly, feeling the roast sit heavy in his stomach. “I don’t think we need that much time. We could probably meet on Sundays or something.”

Momentarily Malfoy looked a bit like his old self, less business-like and more perpetually irritated. It eased Harry’s mind to see something familiar again.

“Listen, Potter. I know you like to half-ass things and charm your way through classes because you’re the damn Chosen One, but some of us put in the actual hard work. Everything I do, I do very well, and this will not be any different.” Malfoy stalked out of the kitchen.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “So you think I’m charming?” he said to the empty room.

–––

The weekend arrived quickly, and Harry found himself in the entrance hall. The early morning fog still hung heavy on Hogwarts grounds, and it was a little chilly, but not terrible for late September. Of course, Malfoy was already waiting for him and was playing with a button on his robes. When he noticed Harry walked toward him, his back straightened into a hard line. Harry felt a little disappointed at that.

“What on earth are you wearing Potter?” Malfoy pupils dilated, but Harry failed to notice.

He looked down at himself self-consciously. “We’re going into the Muggle world. I’m wearing what everybody wears.”

Malfoy reached forward to touch the deep blue denim of Harry’s jeans and snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. Harry felt a low pull in his stomach at Malfoy’s hand on his upper thigh. It had been a long while since someone had touched him there at all.

Malfoy seemed even paler than before, if that were possible, but extracted his wand from his pocket anyway. He transfigured his robes into precisely what Harry was wearing. Harry wanted to laugh, but it made sense. He had no frame of reference for something else to wear that would pass for Muggle clothing.

Harry rested his wand on Malfoy’s chest without thinking and cursed himself when the blonde flinched back. “Um, I was just going to change the color of this.”

Malfoy pushed Harry’s wand, stiffly from his chest, “I can do that myself.”

Harry liked the carmine colored sweatshirt on Malfoy, but after a quick incantation, it was transfigured into a darker blue. He thought that looked even nicer.

“Take my hand,” Malfoy instructed, and Harry blushed fiercely red.

“Why should I?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes and grabbed it anyway, and before Harry knew it, they were twisting through the blackness and promptly landed in the outdoors. The first thing he noticed was the loss of warmth from Malfoy’s hand. It had been softer than he expected, and he kind of missed the touch.

“The Victoria and Albert Museum,” Malfoy announced, as though he were a tour guide. “We’re in London. Some Muggles just call it the V&A, though. Figures they would be lazy about it.”

Harry gazed up at the looming gothic building. He had never seen anything quite like it. Surprise and disorientation were evident on his face because he only snapped back into reality when Malfoy waved a slender hand in front of his glasses.

“How’d we apparate here?” Harry asked, confused.

Malfoy held out a small brooch that was dwarfed by his large hand. “McGonagall allowed us a portkey, but I asked her quite nicely for apparating privileges for the first term. She granted them, of course. Hooking up the portkey each time would be a pain, and I already know that would be left up to me.”

Harry rolled his eyes but nodded in acknowledgment nonetheless. He was still surprised at the building in front of him. He hadn’t seen anything like it. Though Hogwarts had it beaten by quite a fair bit, this was impressive, nonetheless.

“You’ve never been here?” He asked, and genuine curiosity painted his face.

“I’ve never really been anywhere.”

Malfoy was bewildered by the comment but elected to keep his mouth shut. For that, Harry was grateful.

As Harry noticed, Malfoy had cleverly apparated them to the back, so they walked around the front to the entrance of the museum. The structure was even more imposing from the front, but Malfoy appeared uninterested in the exterior. They entered the museum, which was thankfully free of charge. Harry hadn’t thought to bring or even acquire Muggle money, but he was sure Malfoy had somehow already thought through that. 

They entered the museum, passing through metal detectors at the front. Malfoy looked confused but followed behind Harry, emptying their items in the plastic bin. The security guard stared at the foreign currency suspiciously, but she let them through anyway as if to say she didn’t want an explanation. Soon enough, they were inside.

“What were those?” Malfoy asked eventually, as Harry picked out a guide from the information desk.

“Metal detectors,” he stated as if that explained everything.

“Why would Muggles need to detect metal?” Malfoy scoffed, “How utterly useless. Makes sense.”

They continued past the gift store and turned right into a large room full of windows. Greek statues lined the ivory walls, and students sat on stools with sketch pads in their laps.

They wandered about for a few moments alone. 

“I don’t know if I like this room,” Malfoy pronounced, and Harry startled at the voice by his side.

“Really?” He asked, walking up to a bust that was strikingly beautiful. He wanted to reach out and drag his finger along the delicate arch of its nose. The docent at the door glared at him, and Harry took a deliberate step back in surrender.

Malfoy’s face contorted. “I don’t know why Muggles worship ordinary people like this. It hardly seems sane.”

Harry wanted to point out the irony of his statement, but Malfoy seemed in good spirits. Ruining this delicate balance with the mention of how absolutely ordinary Tom Riddle was would be unintelligent.

“They’re Greek statues,” Harry said, paging through the guide. “People love them, apparently.” He eyed the young Muggles around him, crouched beneath the statues as if they were in God’s presence.

“I do not understand why.” Malfoy had walked up to another statue, and this one was kneeling to the ground, gently picking up a fallen sword. “They are just people. Muggle people, at that.”

Harry thought he could understand why. The statue in front of him bore a strange resemblance to the man at his side. The other sculptures in the room reflected soft curves and flowing fabrics despite their marble medium. It was what made them so impressive, to begin with. But this one was made up of harsh lines and angular features. His eyes were sharp and focused on the blade at his fingertips, and his body was leaner than the others that saturated the room. The blindingly white marble didn’t help its case either. Harry refused to admit the figure was gorgeous because that would mean admitting someone else was too. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.

They moved through the museum systematically, according to the recommendations of the paper guide. Malfoy enjoyed the painting rooms the most, and Harry wasn’t sure for what reason. If anything, they were some of the most chaotic and ambiguous ones he had seen. Frames lined the walls as they did by the Hogwarts staircases. They looked as if they’d been thrown upon the plaster and forgotten about. Harry would have imagined Malfoy liked the structure and immobility of some of the statuettes, or larger minimalist sculptures. But he barely spared a glance at those. Something drew his eye to the disorder of the scenes in front of him, and Harry couldn’t imagine why after characterizing him as rigid and uncompromising for so many years. 

After a few hours, they sat down for a rest at one of the benches.

“Do you like it?” Harry asked, nodding to one large painting before them.

“I think I do,” Malfoy said softly, unable to tear bright eyes away from the mess of colors on canvas. He was lit up like Harry had never seen before. “It’s different.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of that, but the moment seemed surprisingly intimate. They sat unbearably close together, and his heartbeat sped up for no apparent reason. He wondered how Malfoy’s presence could have such a mere physical effect on him, especially since they weren’t arguing as usual – which was what usually set him off. The moment was lost straight away when Malfoy stood from his seat and walked swiftly to the next room.

The two arrived back at Hogwarts in the early evening, and they lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

Malfoy looked down at his clothes, his gaze ridiculing his own appearance. His wand was out in a second, and he was back in uniform robes. Harry had temporarily forgotten how strange it was to see Malfoy wearing, of all Muggle clothing items, a sweatshirt.

“Eugh,” He whined, “I’m never wearing this again.”

Malfoy strode away without another word, leaving Harry alone in the hallway.

–––

It was a Friday, and the two of them were lounging in the Three Broomsticks. They had ignored each other throughout their days but met up post-lessons to review magazines and more Muggle publications. They’d done so largely in silence for the entirety of the week. Malfoy was sipping slowly and cautiously at the butterbeer in front of him, and Harry had downed his the second Madam Rosmerta had put it down on the table. Much to Malfoy’s dismay, Harry was feeling chatty.

Harry flicked through the pages of the Muggle newspaper in front of him. He’d read the papers multiple times, if anything, out of boredom when Uncle Vernon had one out at the table. But he was used to the Prophet’s moving pictures, which proved more exciting than stagnant ink. He was getting restless.

Harry threw the newspaper on the table with a huff, and Malfoy briefly rested his gaze on him. Harry suddenly felt quite hot as if the room temperature had gone up by a couple of degrees.

“Is something the matter, Potter?” His eyes flicked between the magazine in his hands and back to Harry.

“This is hopeless,” Harry sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I’m getting nothing from this at all!”

“Well, if you would care to focus and stop fidgeting every five seconds, you might actually be productive.” Malfoy muttered, moving his magazine in front of his face so that his view of Harry was obscured.

Harry positioned himself to the side, so Malfoy would have to face him. “I have an idea.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” Harry spluttered, “You chose what we did last time.”

Malfoy reflected for a moment, and then turned back to the article, “No.”

“Malfoy!” People were beginning to stare, but Harry was feeling indignant. “You can’t just say that.”

The boy paused, setting his butterbeer down with a soft thud. “Well, I just did.” He snapped.

Harry groaned, “Why don’t you just listen and _then_ you can say no. I was thinking, it would be interesting for students to learn about Muggles of – well, of our own age.” Harry shrugged as Malfoy sat with the thought for a moment. “We’re eighteen, we wouldn’t look out of place at a university over here. It would be interesting to just observe people. See what Muggles are like there. It would be more fun than reading the paper.”

“No.” 

“Malfoy!” 

“I’m just kidding!” He held his hands up in defeat, and allowed a gentle laugh. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to visit one of these institutions. I have no doubts that they will fail to measure up to wizarding education, but we could somehow observe a class or two. You know they have a subject called Chemistry which is fairly similar to–”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Malfoy, I don’t _want_ to go to a class. No one is interested in Muggle education. Let’s just go and see what happens, who we meet, you know?”

Malfoy gazed at Harry as though he’d grown a second head. “ _See what happens?_ ” He repeated faintly. Harry thought his tone really bore a resemblance to Hermione at the moment. “Anyway, I’m interested in Muggle education.” 

Harry switched their butterbeer in a flash, sipping at Malfoy’s contentedly. The Slytherin reached his arm around to snatch the mug back, but Harry’s reflexes were always a tad quicker.

“You’ve won this battle, Potter. But I’ll win the war.” Malfoy resigned, but he clamped his mouth shut quickly at the statement. Familiar discomfiture and uncertainty settled around their table before Harry dared to speak again.

“Let’s go.” Harry stood, pulling his cloak from the chair.

“Now?” Malfoy asked incredulously, his voice rising in pitch. Harry liked it when he flustered Malfoy like that. He’d always loved provoking a reaction. “We’re going right now?”

“Why not?” Harry shrugged, pushing his glasses up further on his nose.

“Well, It’s Wednesday,” Draco alleged, but stood as well, matching Harry’s gaze and stature.

“I’m sure there will be something to do. It’s a university.” Harry grumbled, leading Malfoy out of the Three Broomsticks. “Stop being so negative.” 

Harry hadn’t told Malfoy he’d been planning this. It was true that Hermione had suggested it, but she, like Malfoy, was keen on them visiting classes and interacting with Muggle students. She was disappointed that she wouldn’t be able to benefit from a Muggle education too if she wanted to jump-start her career in the Ministry. Harry and Ron had agreed that going to a pub in a university town would be more enjoyable. And Harry was dying to see Malfoy drunk, if anything, he pictured the blonde as a quiet mopey one. Harry took Malfoy’s arm in his own and apparated them to Aberdeen.

Harry stumbled as they landed on the ground, but Malfoy never wavered. The sun was setting slowly in the sky, and everything was dark and blue. The beginnings of stars set a nice backdrop to Malfoy’s silvery hair. Harry found himself wondering why Malfoy looked 

“Where are we, Potter?” Malfoy demanded, once his eyes adjusted to the light.

“We’re in Aberdeen. Well, the University of Aberdeen to be specific.” He looked around at the yard in front of him. It was a little colder here than back in Hogsmeade, where every building was surrounded prudently by warming charms. Students scurried down pathways in oversized coats and scarves. Harry realized what they were wearing and promptly transfigured their robes into their Muggle outfits from the museum trip. Malfoy grimaced at the sweatshirt, tugging at the substantial center pocket.

“Potter, I told you I didn’t want to wear this again. And you know, It’s suspicious that you knew to apparate to this exact location.” Malfoy narrowed his eyes and hardened his gaze on Harry. “I thought you hadn’t been anywhere.” 

“Er-I guessed?” Harry lied through his teeth, but oddly Malfoy did not push it. He was growing interested in the expanse around him.

The darkness made it challenging to discern buildings, but they were strikingly similar to Hogwarts. Everything was stony and old and elegant. Harry quite liked it, though Draco was not nearly as impressed as he was.

“What do we do now?” Malfoy asked, turning himself back to Harry after surveying his surroundings. “What’s next in your grand plan?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, and Malfoy made a face.

“So typical of you not to have one,” he muttered grouchily. 

He walked up unabashedly to a group of boys their age kicking around a football as if it were the middle of springtime and not crisp Autumn. They were wearing athletic shorts, and Harry grew colder just looking at them. 

“Hello,” He addressed the group confidently as if he’d known them for years.

Harry wanted to melt in the ground out of embarrassment and was ready to drag Malfoy away so they could make a quick exit when one of the men broke out into a toothy smile.

“Hello there!” He clapped Malfoy forcefully on the shoulder, and he at least had the decency to startle. “Name’s Oliver. But you two can call me Oli.”

He seemed enthusiastic and friendly like a Labrador. Harry let his eyes linger on the athletic man in front of him, fixating on the sharp curves of his muscled shoulders and strong lines of his tanned forearms. He spared a glance at Malfoy, who looked entirely irritated at his ogling. 

“Boys, we’re heading out for a bevvy. Join us, yeah?” Oli asked, picking up the football and resting it on his hip. The other boys crowded around the two as if they were exciting foreigners. Harry supposed that in a way, they were.

“I’m Draco, and this is Harry,” Malfoy said, pointing at Harry, who had crept up quietly next to him.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said, holding out his hand clumsily. Oli glanced at it and then back up at Harry, and his eyes glinted just a bit. He wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulder instead and walked him off. The other boys followed behind like puppies, asking Malfoy questions about his accent. They said they didn’t have British visitors around here often.

“Draco’s an interesting name,” one said, sidling up next to Malfoy. “What’s it mean?” 

“Dragon.” 

“Would you consider yourself a dragon then?” another asked, teasingly poking at his side.

“Absolutely, I would,” Draco said stiffly, leaning away from unwelcome touch. 

“Oli, I like this one!” One crowed, “Can we keep him? Please, Dad!” 

“Sure, Jack, anything for you.” Oli snorted, throwing his head back to grin at the group briefly, but focusing his attention on Harry nevertheless.

Harry felt Oli’s grip drop slowly, and purposefully, to his waist. He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t displaying nervousness so obviously on his face though it certainly felt like it. As Harry walked, pressed closed to Oli’s side, he could practically feel eyes boring into the back of his head. He flushed at the thought of Malfoy seeing him in a compromising position like this. 

The boys led them to a quaint pub that was only a five-minute walk from the field they had arrived in. Old pop music filtered in through grainy speakers, but the place was packed to the brim with other noises, students and adults alike. The boy named Jack had bought them their first few rounds of drinks, a dark beer that tasted glorious to Harry, but that Malfoy drank like cold medicine. Harry bought everyone their third and fourth.

“So, boys,” Oli smiled, his arm unmoving from Harry’s side. Malfoy scowled harder, “What are you doing ‘round these parts? Not much up here, eh?”

Harry nodded in response, but Draco cut in. “We’re just in for a visit, we should leave soon anyway–”

“Nonsense!” A boy named Noah called happily, from across the table. “We’ve made new friends, let’s toast to that.”

The group, sparing Malfoy, clinked their beers together, and some foam dribbled down the sides. Harry thought he could get used to the familiarity of all this. He desperately loved Ron and Hermione but wondered what it would be like to have a group of guy friends of his own. He wouldn’t mind it, especially if they all were as pleasing to look at as these were.

Oli fixed his eyes on Harry, and his thoughts were etched across his face. Harry didn’t lean away. Oli licked his lips slowly, and there was something hungry in his expression. “So, Harry. We don’t usually have guys like you coming around here. Must be my lucky day.”

Harry smiled faintly, burying his initial discomfort, “Guys like me?”

“You know,” Oli mused, tucking back a strand of Harry’s hair and studying his forehead, “Tall, fit blokes who have interesting scars.”

Harry could practically feel Oli’s breath on his face, he was so close. He spared a glance at Malfoy, who couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. The other boys hadn’t noticed and were still talking to the blonde as though he were listening.

“I-er, thanks?” Harry said, but it came out as more of a question. He couldn’t focus on Oli’s big brown eyes gazing at him expectantly, and Malfoy’s piercing ones sending him daggers from the other side of the table.

“You don’t need to say thanks,” Oli had dropped his voice real low, and the other boys had turned their attention elsewhere. Harry suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic, as if it were only him, Oli, and Malfoy in the room together. It certainly felt like it.

Oli leaned in, and his lips brushed Harry’s ever so slightly and then touched more firmly against Harry’s. The music and people were so loud in his ears, and the alcohol made everything seem happy and hazy. Oli tasted like beer and cinnamon, and Harry felt lost in the spice of it. He hadn’t meant to let it happen, but he was drifting into the feeling before long.

“Alright!” Malfoy stood abruptly from the table, kicking his chair back violently. “I’m feeling tired, I’m going to head back.” 

He was surprised he couldn’t see steam pumping out of Malfoy’s ears, he was more upset than Harry had seen him in a while. His pale features had turned an unpleasant green. Malfoy was outside of the pub in seconds. 

“I’m steamin’ boys.” Oli sighed, his grip softening on Harry’s shoulders. “S’your friend alright?”

“I’ll just,” Harry motioned toward the door. “I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

Harry left the table, but when he was outside, Malfoy was nowhere to be found. He had presumably disapparated back to Hogwarts. Perhaps they were both a little tipsy, but Harry wondered why Malfoy was so upset. He hadn’t thought he’d done anything wrong. Harry resisted the urge to go back inside the bar and apparated himself to the grounds too. He felt more sober than ever as his feet touched down. Promptly, Harry vomited on the grass in front of him.

“So you wanted to go there to get _fucked_?” Malfoy seethed from the steps of the entrance hall. “You could’ve fucking told me.”

“Malfoy that was never my intention–” Harry clambered to his feet unsteadily, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

Malfoy stood from his perch and walked faster, throwing back a glare at Harry instead. “Malfoy, seriously, this isn’t a big deal. I didn’t even know the guy! What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Why on earth did you drag me there with you, Harry?” He seemed small when he said it and a little sad. Harry wanted to hug him. He tried to say he didn’t mean to, but he didn’t know why this was affecting Malfoy so much. Maybe it was a pureblood thing. Maybe Malfoy was upset at his sexuality, he reasoned. 

“I thought it would be fun,” Harry exclaimed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands.

“Well, it fucking wasn’t.”

“I thought it was fun,” Harry began furiously, “but clearly, you’re a fucking homophobic bastard, so of course, it wasn’t. It makes sense you’d be just like your father.” 

Harry wanted the words back, the moment he had said them. 

Pain flashed across Draco’s features, but he tucked it away as quickly as it had come. “Fuck you, Potter. You know nothing about me. Don’t pretend to.” 

It was only when he walked away from him that Harry realized the gravity of what he had said.

–––

The next day, Harry woke to a pounding headache. He didn’t recall drinking that much, but he supposed maybe the Muggle stuff was more potent than he expected. Or he wasn’t the best at handling his alcohol. When the events, especially the ending, of last night came rushing back to him, he felt as though he might be sick again.

“Blimey Harry,” Ron remarked, uncapping a hangover potion from his drawer and passing it across the stretch of beds. “You look ghastly.”

“Yeah, I don’t feel great,” Harry whined, letting his head lean back against the headboard as he gulped down the potion. It smelled foul and left a bitter aftertaste in the mouth. It promptly halted the waves of nausea, but Harry’s headache remained. 

They had free time on Thursday mornings, and usually, Harry spent it outside when the weather was nice, but he didn’t want to risk a chance encounter with Malfoy just yet. 

Once they had dressed, Harry and Ron found Hermione waiting for them in the common room.

“Library?” she asked, a little too excitedly. “I wanted to get ahead on some of my assignments for the week.”

“Breakfast first, please.” Ron groaned; his eyes still hooded from sleep. He gave Hermione a gentle kiss anyway, and Harry looked away. He felt like he was intruding, but only for an instant.

They settled at the table in the Great Hall, and Harry scanned the room in search of a certain blonde Slytherin. He seemed to have skipped out on breakfast, and it made Harry panic just a bit.

“Harry,” Ron began through a mouthful of toast. “Where were you last night mate? We were playing some drinking games in the common room. You would’ve died laughing, Seamus sicked up all over his own bed after only one round of exploding snap!”

Ron chuckled delightedly at the memory, but Hermione looked distastefully at her food. 

“Ron, that’s not a very appropriate topic of conversation right now. I’m trying to eat.”

Harry offered a weak laugh, but he dreaded the questions that would follow the answer to Ron’s question. “Well, I was with Malfoy.”

Both pairs of eyes settled on Harry, and he found his food very interesting all of a sudden.

“Did I hear that correctly?” asked Hermione as she began slicing a sausage.

“But you were back so late,” Ron said, eyes widening. “You surely weren’t with Malfoy for that long, right Harry?”

“I-uh, yes, I was. We went to Aberdeen.”

“For the university, right?” Hermione seemed pleased at this, but her face fell when Harry began to look guilty.

“Ah, well, no. We apparated there, but it was late, and these blokes were playing football, and it all happened very quickly after that,” Harry rushed out, still evading both of their gazes.

“What happened, Harry? ” Hermione crossed her arms, uninterested in her food once more.

“Well see, I don’t think it was that bad, he just overreacted–”

“Harry, just tell us,” Ron said impatiently.

“We went to this pub with the football guys, and uh, Oli, one of the lads we met, kissed me.”

Ron and Hermione still had confused expressions on their faces, and Harry wondered how they could not understand what he was saying. They, of course, were aware of his sexuality. But the fact that it had happened in front of Malfoy should have been a dead giveaway at the remaining tension of last night. 

“And? Did it go any further?” Ron prodded, but he seemed excited for Harry nonetheless. 

“I mean, that’s all. We were out at a pub.” Harry shrugged.

Hermione sighed. “Harry, we really thought something terrible had happened, you can’t just scare us like that over a kiss. How was it? Do you like this Oli character?”

“But, it wasn’t just a kiss it was–“

“Something more?” Ron waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Harry snorted.

“ _No_ , it was just that Malfoy got all upset afterward and then he left. And back at school, he yelled at me for taking him there.” 

"What _else_ did you do Harry?" Hermione asked knowingly. She could always read him frighteningly well. But Harry knew he had a miserable excuse for a poker face.

“I told him he was a bastard like his father,” Harry said quietly, “I shouldn’t have said that, I know.”

“I mean, he got what he deserved, don’t you think?” Ron laughed, clapping his hands together giddily. “You were only speaking the truth.” 

Harry didn’t know if that was the truth anymore though. 

“Oh, Harry, you can really be such an idiot sometimes.” Hermione frowned, narrowing her eyes at both Harry and Ron. “You two are _both_ such idiots.”

She stood from the table and left, presumably, to the library.

“Did I miss something?” Ron asked genuinely, scraping leftovers from Hermione’s plate into his own.

“I think we both did,” Harry sighed resolutely. He knew he needed to find Malfoy and apologize.

The week passed in a blur of classes and commotion, but Malfoy was an expert at avoidance. They only had potions together for the term, and Harry figured this was McGonagall’s doing, considering she was already forcing them to spend more of their time together working on the project. Dumbledore wouldn’t have even spared him that. During morning lessons, Harry found himself trying to catch Malfoy’s eye, but the boy always rushed from the classroom as though there were something urgent he needed to attend to. His Slytherin groupies followed close behind, and Harry refused to go near them. They still convened at the Three Broomsticks after class, but Malfoy routinely cast silencing charms around himself as they poured over previous Muggle studies textbooks. Harry could never get a word in edgewise. What started as pure annoyance on Harry’s part was turning into outright fear. He worried Malfoy would never speak to him again.

Though after a week of empty silences, Harry had decidedly suffered enough. He was playing listlessly with his wand across from the table, and for once, his butterbeer remained untouched. Malfoy peacefully sipped on his own with a neutral expression plastered upon his face.

Harry snapped his fingers in front of Malfoy’s face, attempting to garner his attention. “Malfoy! Hey! I’m talking to you.”

Malfoy barely blinked and didn’t look up, even though he could probably see Harry was speaking to him from his peripheral vision. The silencing charm kept his voice out, Harry knew that, but it wouldn’t stop him from trying. He waved his arms frantically again, but the blonde perused through pages of the text as though he were alone in the room.

Harry felt his anger rising up inside of him and stood from the table. Malfoy glanced at him for a moment, likely assuming he was about to leave. Instead, Harry bellowed, “MALFOY IF YOU DON’T TAKE THE CHARM OFF, I’M GOING TO BE REALLY MAD.”

The entirety of the Three Broomsticks swiveled to stare at who had just disturbed the peace in the quiet establishment. Malfoy, presumably, couldn’t hear a thing, but recognizing the reactions from other patrons and the way Harry’s mouth opened so widely was apparently enough. Madam Rosmerta was already sending nasty looks their way, and neither of them desired a lifetime ban. 

He waved his wand and muttered an incantation. The spell dissipated, and Harry sat back down pleased.

“What the absolute fuck did you do that for?” Malfoy hissed, leaning across the table toward Harry. It was apparent people were still listening in. The Boy Who Lived yelling at Death Eater would likely make next morning’s headlines if they weren’t careful, Harry thought painfully but pushed away regret. He had gotten Malfoy to speak to him and that’s what mattered.

“You weren’t paying attention to me.” Harry shrugged as though it were a simple explanation and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“You have such a flair for the dramatics, Potter. You know not everything is about you.” He snarled, his eyes flashing with anger and maybe something else too. Harry just couldn’t identify what it was. 

“Harry, please.”

“Have you lost your mind, Potter?” Malfoy bit out, turning back to his reading, “Speaking in the third-person now?”

“I meant, please call me Harry.” He picked his wand back up. “We’re friends now. At least I consider us friends, and my friends call me Harry.”

“We are not friends,” Malfoy said, but there wasn’t malice behind the words. He sounded more hurt than anything. “You made that very clear last week.” 

“Look, I’m actually genuinely sorry I said what I did,” Harry said. He was placing all cards on the table, and hoping Malfoy would respond reasonably well. “It was stupid of me to say that about you. I’ve been around you a lot for the past few weeks, and we get along fairly well. I just said that to get a rise out of you. You’re not like your father at all, and, er, I’m sure you already know that.”

“I do know that, and I don’t need you telling me so,” Malfoy said, meeting Harry’s gaze for the first time in a while. He cleared his throat, “I guess I have to forgive you if we’re going to finish our project. We are still not friends, though.” 

“We can be ‘not-friends’ all you want, but I’d like it if you called me Harry.” 

“Only if you call me Draco.” Malfoy sniffed, “Shame to waste such an elegant first name.”

“Deal,” A bright smile colored Harry’s features, and warmth spread across his body. He wasn’t going to apologize anymore or dredge events from the week passed and risk further upsetting Draco, but they had made up, and that’s what mattered.

Harry felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was growing increasingly accustomed to Draco’s presence and had been a little lonely all week without him.

“I’d like to go to dinner tonight.” Harry deliberated for a moment before standing by what he had said. They had yet to experience Muggle fine dining, and this would be the perfect opportunity to get to know each other a little better. He figured it would be awkward, but it might not be, and for once Harry welcomed the risk.

“What?” Draco’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, “You want to go to dinner. With me?”

“I did say that, yes. I know we haven’t been to a Muggle restaurant yet, but I thought there wouldn’t be any harm in trying one. It could fit under the aesthetics section, you know.”

“It would definitely have to be filed under culture, Potter, er, Harry.” 

Harry thought he could see the faintest rosy blush on Draco’s pale cheeks, but it was cold in the Three Broomsticks that day. He could be imagining things. 

“Anyway,” Malfoy continued, regaining confidence, “haven’t you been to a Muggle restaurant before? There’s no use wasting time on one if you already know what they are like.”

“I’ve never been to one,” Harry stated and continued when Draco wore a puzzled expression., “The Muggles that looked after me never took me out to a restaurant. I usually stayed at home. I did go into a few cafés with them sometimes if that counts, but I never ate anything.”

Draco stared blankly at Harry’s face as though he were waiting for him to reveal it was all a joke. When he didn’t, Draco fidgeted a bit before standing up. “Well, that’s odd. But alright, let’s do it.”

They debated where they wanted to go after looking at a map, ultimately settling on the town of Perth. Harry took Draco’s hand, smiling at him quickly before focusing his energy on the new location. He was surprised when he saw a small tug at the corner of Draco’s lips. They arrived in Perth in the early evening; however, it was already dark. Harry had forgotten how quickly summer bled into autumn. The streets were lined with glowing streetlamps, and everything seemed absolutely serene.

“Well this is a drag already,” Draco mused, raising an eyebrow at the empty streets.

“Just give it a chance, Draco,” Harry said and liked the way the name felt against lips. He paused when the blonde looked up, surprised.

“Sorry.” He shrugged, picking up speed as they followed signs to the downtown area. “I’m not used to people saying that yet.”

“Your friends don’t call you Draco?” Harry wondered, confusion creasing lines into his forehead.

“We call each other by our surnames for the most part. But Blaise is the exception. He says first names should never be wasted. Besides that, the only people that consistently call me Draco are my parents. My mother.”

A thick tension layered on their conversation, and Harry felt his mouth go a bit dry. He wasn’t sure how to broach this topic of conversation yet, and he hadn’t planned to do it at all if he was honest with himself. Harry had willingly testified for the Malfoy family at the Wizengamot in the prior year, but Lucius had rightfully been placed in Azkaban on a life sentence. Harry debated whether Draco blamed him for it. He preemptively scolded himself for being unable to keep his mouth shut once in a while.

“Do you blame me?” Harry blurted out, his eyes going a little wide at his own words.

Draco didn’t seem too bothered by the question. “Harry, It would be unwise of me to blame you.”

“Sometimes, I just...” Harry paused, debating how to word his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. “I just wonder if you wish I had done more for your family than I did.”

Draco’s cold gaze turned frosty at that, “We can take care of ourselves, Harry. We don’t need you to swoop in and save the day all the time. You don’t have to unload your entire guilt complex on me, and if that’s why we are friends, then I don’t want to be anymore.”

Harry felt himself beginning to smile a bit despite the harsh words, “So we’re friends then?”

Draco’s gaze grew colder, but it was turning to exasperation rather than pure resentment. Harry could tell. They had reached Downtown Perth, and while it was still quiet, Muggles littered the streets; either heading home from the workday or ducking in and out of quaint shops for forgotten errands. Harry found the sudden crowdedness of the narrow road reminded him a little of Diagon Alley. Though it was definitely less lively, he found it comforting and quite lovely. Draco didn’t seem to mind it either, and Harry watched his eyes flick between people and buildings. There was much to look at after the empty streets they were first greeted by. 

“It’s not so different from our world,” Draco concluded, after a thorough examination.

“It really isn’t.” Harry agreed. He would rather do anything than press the subject but tried his best to hide the shock. Harry never knew a Draco like this before the war. 

They paused in front of a restaurant with a forest green exterior and large flower basket hanging in the doorway. Gold lettering adorned a wooden sign that swung delicately in the gentle wind. The hinges squeaked as if they were going to give way. It wasn’t exceedingly crowded inside, and Harry figured this was a good thing because they had both forgotten to replace their robes. Draco went in first, and Harry followed behind.

“Two for dinner, please,” Draco said to the host at the desk, who regarded them with a judgmental expression. His eyes flicked up and down their bodies, and Harry felt like he wanted to curl in on himself and hide. Draco’s expression hardened, and the host snapped into action. 

He led them to a table toward the front of the restaurant but nestled into the window away from other diners. Soft twinkling lights were visible from the outside, and the establishment itself was heated by a warm and roaring fire. Everything felt almost romantic, and Harry found himself beginning to panic. If Draco felt the same way about their environment too, he didn’t show it.

They perused the menu in silence for a bit, and Harry was unsure whether to speak and cut through the tension. Draco did anyway, once they had both ordered – Harry asked for Shepherd's pie, and Draco requested a type of fish that Harry had never heard of. Before he could object, Draco had already asked for a bottle of expensive red wine.

“Tell me more about the Muggles who raised you.”

Harry choked as a sip of wine went down the wrong pipe. Once he was done coughing, and gulping down water, he looked up to meet Draco’s gaze.

“That bad?”

“Sometimes.” Harry strained, draining the rest of his wine glass in one go. Draco barely made a dent in his own. 

Draco made a noise of acknowledgment, clearly unsettled by Harry’s truthfulness. His brows furrowed, and he stared intently down at a rough spot on the wooden table.

“They weren’t always terrible. They never put their hands on me, you know, physically.” Harry looked at Draco, but he only looked away. “Even then, though, they locked me in a cupboard for the first ten years of my life. That did hurt. My back would always ache the next day, and when it would finally stop, I’d be back in the cupboard after supper.”

A silence lingered at the table for longer than Harry was comfortable with, and he found himself scrambling to fill the silence. 

“Sometimes I kind of wished they hit me and gotten it over with. All that psychological stuff was unbearable,” Harry confessed. 

He was startled by his own honesty, attributing the unstoppable flow of words to the wine, and the empty space between them. It made him feel light and willing. 

“Well?” Harry questioned, searching for an answer within the expanse of Draco’s grey eyes. “Are you going to say something or are you going to just let me continue embarrassing myself?” 

Draco shook his head but allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch up just slightly. “It sounded like you needed to say some of those things aloud. So I let you.” 

Harry mulled his words over, almost a little infuriated at how logical Draco sounded. Harry had expected pity but was undeniably relieved at its absence. He let a tight breath out of his chest. 

Draco continued, “Still, I thought Muggles were supposed to be nice enough.” He wrinkled his nose.

“They usually are nice enough. The Dursley’s are just terrible people who happen to also be Muggles, you know? They were great to my cousin Dudley. I wasn’t their child and they made that clear.”

“But even if you weren’t their child, they should’ve at least respected you.” Draco reasoned, taking another cautious sip of wine. “They were required to take care of you.”

“I would’ve taken consistent meals and indifference over respect any day,” Harry laughed. But then he was curious, “Do you think your parents really took care of you?”

Harry had expected a response, and he didn’t mean to be rude, but he was so used to winding Draco up that it had become second nature. Something flashed in Draco’s eyes, though, and it was not pain or anger. He seemed almost forlorn.

“They did what they thought was best for me,” Draco said dryly. “There’s not much else to it.” 

Harry had a different opinion, but as he was about to voice it, their food arrived. Somehow, he felt as though it was a sign to just move on – something he had never excelled at. Draco requested another bottle of wine when they had finished their first one. Harry could feel a pleasant buzz in the back of his head that vibrated through his arms and out to the tips of his fingers. He could tell Draco was feeling it too, as both their eyes were going a little wide, and Draco was most certainly slack-jawed. 

“But you know they put you in a tough situation, right?” Harry asked gently as if Draco were going to fracture under the pressure of his question. He’d gone glassy-eyed, and Harry was worried. “You did what you could to survive, I understand that.”

“You really think that?” Draco asked, shaking his head, “I did what was asked of me, you’re right. But I did it willingly. I only wanted to make my parents proud, especially my father. I wanted to serve the Dark Lord for him. I never believed the message as much as I should have, but I still believed it. You can make excuses for my actions as much as you’d like, and try telling yourself that I was just a child, but it doesn’t change the fact that people are defined by their choices. I made mine.”

Harry exhaled raggedly; he hadn’t wanted to start an argument. “Look, I’m not excusing what you did at all. Your actions hurt so many people. Your family killed people.” Draco didn’t flinch because he already knew, and Harry almost felt proud of him for that. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you entirely for your part in the war. That will be hard for me. But working with you hasn’t been all that terrible, and clearly, you’re more than just a former Death Eater no matter what other people might say. I didn’t think that a few weeks ago you know, and now I do, so that must say something about who you are as a person. Maybe you have changed just a little, even if you’re still a massive prat at times and want to pretend you haven’t.”

Draco was silent, but he seemed to consider the words that had been said to him. He didn’t appear angry or hurt, but rather somewhat intrigued that Harry had taken such a stand. He wore a wry smile on his features. Harry could have marveled at him like that forever.

Harry found his heart rate picking up, and he drummed his fingers nervously against the tabletop. The fact that Draco’s smile was enough to send Harry’s heart into a tizzy was just short of alarming. 

“I thought nobody would ever forgive me for what I did,” Draco said, his tone even as if stating a fact.

“Some people might not,” Harry reasoned, taking a slow bite of his pie. “But many people know that it wasn’t a black or white situation for everyone. There were other things at play, there always are. It took me longer to realize that than I’m willing to admit.”

Draco was still silent as he took a few more tentative bites of fish. Harry cursed himself for prodding at another wound but was eager to know the answer to his question anyway. “Can I ask you something?”

Draco gazed at him suspiciously. “You can ask.” He twirled his fork in his fingers thoughtfully but granted Harry a slight smile. 

“I just – well, I wanted to know what you meant when we were outside of McGonagall’s office a few weeks ago.” When Draco looked back at him with uncertainty, Harry bit the bullet. “I mean, like, why did you get angry with me? You said this was supposed to be your year. I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant.”

“Oh.” Something in Draco’s face looked disappointed as if he had been expecting Harry to ask something else. “I was just upset, you idiot. I often find it challenging to control my emotions. My mother always told me that was why she named me for a dragon. She told me I could be so unpleasantly explosive.” He made a noncommittal sound against the back of his throat.

“I understand why you were angry. But I want to know why you said what you did.” Harry pushed, feeling the alcohol bubbling uncomfortably in his stomach. There was only so much he could say before setting Draco off. Narcissa had aptly named her son. He was explosive, but Harry didn’t think it was unpleasant. It was just Draco. 

“Every year I’ve had expectations from other people eclipse what I actually want to do.” Draco leaned heavily into his chair, “I was just tired after the war. And when I saw you testify for me at the Wizengamot, I was angry–”

“But why were you an–” Harry began but abruptly cut himself off as Malfoy shot him a glare.

“Let me finish Harry. I was angry because it was you all over again saving my family, saving me from something I wasn’t meant to be a part of in the first place. I was just tired of it. I wanted a year where I didn’t have to interact with you at all, and when McGonagall took that from me, I felt I had little left. Especially since attending Hogwarts for the eighth year was a part of my sentence. The one thing I hoped to control was who I spent my time with this year. I’ve wasted the past however many years of my life. I’d like to change that now, I think.”

Harry was placid, but he felt as though he understood immensely. Harry could understand wanting to live without the crushing weight of other’s expectations for once. They were more alike than they thought, but Draco seemed as though he would stand right up and leave if Harry were to state such an atrocity.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Harry said unexpectedly, nursing yet another glass of sweet liquor. His eyes were misty, and he enjoyed the warmth of the room edging upon him.

“Something you don’t know about me...” Draco’s eyes fixated distractedly on the light fixture above them as he toyed Harry’s question around in his mind. “Well, I quite like spending time with you even though I probably shouldn’t. You go around kissing other people in front of me, and you call me a prat, so that’s not ideal either.”

As soon as the words were out, Draco let his hand cover his mouth gently. His eyes widened almost comically, and Harry would have laughed if Draco didn’t look so guilty for voicing his thought. He wanted to reach out and push away a strand of Draco’s hair that had fallen loosely in front of his face. Before Harry knew it, his hand was moving in front of him as if it were being controlled by someone else. His fingers brushed gently against Draco’s sharp cheekbone, and the boy flinched at the touch but leaned into it afterward. Harry’s heart was in this throat, threatening to empty out onto the table. He wet his lips just slightly, and knew exactly what he wanted to do next. A familiar little tug made its presence known in his lower belly. Draco wasn’t moving him away either, his sharp eyes staring so intensely into Harry’s own that he was surprised they weren’t watering.

Draco slowly moved his hand up and lingered on Harry’s for a moment before closing around it. The moment was painfully intimate, and Harry wanted to move in closer, so he did. Draco did too, and for a still second, their faces were inches apart. Harry could have closed the gap in an instant. The air around Draco smelled like peppermint and cloves, and Harry found himself wanting to inhale the captivating scent. He wanted to bury his face in the sharp crook of that long neck, and just die there.

Suddenly, Draco pulled back. “We should go.” He spoke softly as if the room had gone quiet. Neither of them had focused much on their food.

Draco removed some Muggle cash from the pocket of his robe and placed it down on the table, tucking it underneath a small candle. Harry was too alarmed by the sudden unpleasantness of their situation and better than to ask how he had acquired it. Draco had vastly overpaid for the meal, but there was no use in pointing it out at all.

“We can’t apparate back.” Harry found himself saying, “we’re too drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk, Harry.”.

Harry found his stomach dropping a bit at the statement. Of course he had gone and made a fool out of himself while Draco was painfully sober. Black spots dotted his vision, and Draco was hoisting him up carefully before he could register cold hands around his waist. Harry could feel the press of Draco’s body against the length of his own and craved more of the touch. He leaned harder against Draco, who acted as though Harry were as light as a feather. He was undoubtedly taller but was absolutely skinnier and less muscled. Harry wondered if he would collapse the two of them, but they made it to the curbside safely.

The chilly autumn air nipped at their skin uncomfortably, turning the very tip of his Draco’s nose a soft red. Harry found himself wanting to reach out and poke at it but decided against it at the last minute. This was likely a wise decision because Draco was glowering once more into the shadowy distance. He took Harry’s elbow gruffly and apparated them with a crack to the outside of the entrance hall.

Harry fell onto all fours unsteadily, but nausea didn’t crash over him as it usually did. Before he knew it, Draco’s strong hands were in his, helping him to his feet.

“I’m not going to accompany you back to your room, Harry. I’m not your caretaker. This is becoming a bit of a habit.” Draco narrowed his eyes, but his hands never pulled away.

They walked inside together, hands caught tightly in each other’s. Draco was the first to let go. “I trust you’ll make it back to your common room without my assistance?” He looked wary of leaving Harry by himself, but it was clear he was hastily attempting to escape the awkwardness between them. 

Harry nodded in response, but his mind was filled with thick fog. Something inside was screaming at him to just stumble forward and kiss Draco sloppily against the door of the entrance hall. But he didn’t, and in seconds Draco had stalked off in the direction of the dungeons. Harry pushed his back to the cold wall and sunk down the floor, head in his hands. He was sobering up and willing his mind to let the alcoholic stupor envelop him so he could forget what feelings felt like.

“Hi there, Harry.” Luna stood in front of him, the firelight making her platinum hair glow. She looked celestial.

“Hi Luna,” he said as she drifted over to where he was seated and joined him on the ground. “What are you doing down here so late?”

She angled her Prefect’s badge toward Harry. He’d forgotten entirely that McGonagall appointed her, though it made sense. Luna was as fair and responsible as any Ravenclaw. 

“It wasn’t my turn to patrol tonight. But some nights I sing lullabies to the thestrals. It helps them sleep, and you know thestrals alter the future during the morning hours, so proper rest is essential,” she said as if it were the most reasonable explanation in the world. In a way, to Harry, it was.

“That’s excellent, Luna. I didn’t know that.” He rested his head back against the stone, breathing in the crisp air that had found its way in from outside.

“Harry, is something wrong?” Luna asked, but when he turned to look at her, she was drawing lazy circles on the ground with her wand. Small lavender-colored sparks ignited from its tip and disappeared as they touched the floor. 

“I don’t really know, to be honest.” Harry shrugged, “something definitely isn’t right. Sleep would do me well right now, I think.”

They stood together, but before parting ways, Luna reached her hand out and placed it assuredly on Harry’s shoulder. “He cares about you too, you know. He will show it differently.”

Harry gaped at her as she glided back to the staircase and turned a corner. He must have been positively smashed if he had hallucinated Luna saying such madness.

–––

Harry woke the next morning with one thought on his mind ringing louder than the rest. He had feelings for Draco Malfoy, and there was no denying it. He knew that the previous night he could have attributed his emotions to numerous glasses of wine, and a seemingly low tolerance for alcohol. But the harsh light of day revealed an even harsher truth. Harry resolved to push the thoughts back until he couldn’t any longer. This was a problem for another day and future Harry.

He spent the next few days in a bit of a daze, with only Draco on his mind. They had decided to forego sessions at the Three Broomsticks and touch base at the end of the week. Draco wanted to take time to brainstorm and research by themselves because their first round of exams were steadily approaching. Harry listlessly completed his schoolwork and was only excited for potions when he could see the back of Draco’s blonde head before it disappeared out into the corridor without so much as turn in his direction. Harry fixated on Luna’s words. _He will show it differently_. Something about that felt ominous, and Harry waited for a sign that maybe Draco would return even a fraction of the feelings he had. That he wanted to be friends, more than friends, outside of their assigned project. No such sign presented itself, and Harry was growing impatient.

On Friday, they met outside of the Three Broomsticks once more, but when Harry moved to open the door, Draco pulled his hand back. Harry felt electricity prickle at his fingertips at the mere gesture. 

“We’re taking quite a while to get the basics of our research completed.” Draco said, “I think we should split up again today.”

Harry did his best to hide overt disappointment. Draco had already asked them to work separately through the week, and now it seemed as though he couldn’t bear to be around Harry. 

“Er, okay?” Harry said, unable to muster the desire to argue.

“Let’s apparate to Edinburgh on our own. I’m going to go to a clothing store and investigate the latest trends and styles. Merlin only knows you would be hopeless at that.” Draco said, and his business-like attitude had returned. Harry was discouraged to see the more emotional and open side of his friend already gone. “You should go to a grocery shop and take notes about the Muggles there and what they shop for. Unless you have any better ideas.”

With a loud crack, Draco had vanished from the front stoop of the bar. Harry was left feeling bewildered and a little empty. He had looked forward to this moment all week, and quite suddenly, Draco decided to keep avoiding him. He was confused about why they hadn’t apparated together after all this time of doing so. Harry wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, that he had done anything wrong. Nothing too terrible had taken place in their outing to Perth, but Harry certainly felt as though something in their dynamic shifted. He would never voice to Draco that it felt a touch like a date because it was obvious now that his feelings were unreciprocated. Luna had been wrong after all. 

Harry apparated himself to the heart of Edinburgh and was too preoccupied to appreciate its beauty. The city itself was louder and more packed full than Harry could have imagined. Maybe it was due to living in Surrey, but he always expected the Muggle world to be quieter than the Wizarding one. And while it was definitely less chaotic, as things were not flying about or moving on their own, they certainly were not any less crowded. Harry figured it was rush hour, which was why the Aldi’s was chock full, and he practically had to squeeze past two older ladies to get by. They side-eyed him irritably but allowed him to pass through.

He breezed through the aisles uninterestedly and realized people were staring at him. He had once again forgotten to change his robes but hadn’t bothered to worry. His thoughts swam with visions of Draco. He wanted to drown in the scent of peppermint, and taste Draco on his tongue.

“Excuse me young man, please watch where you’re going!” A woman shouted, and Harry realized he had obtusely walked right into her and she’d dropped her bag.

He scrambled to the floor to collect the contents and offered the items back to her sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, Madam,” he mumbled, sidestepping her quickly and leaving her confused and angry.

Harry was so flustered, and he could feel his face turning red and a bulge pressing through his pants. He willed himself to stop thinking about Draco because this was neither the place nor the time. He combed through the aisles again, taking notes and observing different Muggles, immersing himself in the research as a means of distraction. He found it interesting that Dudley had consumed so much milk as a child and noted that many of the shopping carts were filled with it. Harry couldn’t clearly remember Petunia letting him have any after a point. He never liked the stuff that much anyway, it made him feel like a baby.

An hour had passed, and Harry was the first to arrive outside of their usual meeting place. He headed inside to grab a table and organize his thoughts onto a paper before Draco could make fun of him for his disorganized process. Another hour passed, and Harry was losing a sense of time as he worked. He found his thoughts wandered to Draco often, but he willed them to go away. Still, he was making good progress, and the large binder they had used to store their notes was growing heavier by the week. McGonagall would be pleased with their progress, though Harry was beginning to doubt she even cared much about the project anymore. She had not bothered to request an update or monitor any of the places they were visiting in the Muggle world. It was most unlike her to leave them to their own devices. 

Maybe it was about abandoning old rivalries in the past after all. 

The bell rang out as the door opened, but Harry barely startled. He was engrossed in his notes, for once, attempting to pour all of his thoughts out before they were lost. When he glimpsed up, he found Draco unobtrusively standing in front of him with a shopping bag and a nervous smile plastered across his linear features.

“Oh, I didn’t buy anything from the grocery store. I didn’t realize you wanted to–” Harry started, but Draco waved at him evasively to quiet down. Harry’s mouth snapped shut.

“I got something for you,” Draco said softly, and there was a quality in his eyes that Harry couldn’t quite identify.

He set the bag on the chair and pulled it open. Something crinkled inside. His slender hand withdrew a small bunch of Honeysuckle flowers that were tied together with a pale yellow ribbon. Draco sucked in a breath through his teeth, before straightening his back and reaching out to pass Harry the flowers. 

“You got these…for me?” Harry asked, struggling to keep both amusement and affection from blanketing his voice. Draco had bought flowers for him.

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly, gathering his things in his hands. “I passed by a flower shop on the way to some of the stores and these were in the window display. I don’t know why, but they made me think of you.”

Harry glanced down at the bunch and wondered why. If anything, they reminded him entirely of Draco. They were small and white, and impossibly delicate. He breathed in the scent of warm honey and citrus, enjoying how sweet it made the air around him smell. When Harry broke his gaze from his gift to say thank you, Draco was already gone. 

He strode back to the castle, as a light rain began to speckle down upon him, dampening his trainers. The sky was a little cloudy and dark as the day transitioned to night time. He cast a _Lumos_ to light the way. Despite the weather, Harry felt like it was the brightest day he had in a while.

“Oi, Harry!” Neville called, as he approached the grounds too.

Neville’s clothing was muddied up, and undoubtedly, he had been working with Professor Sprout that evening.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry chirped. He clutched the Honeysuckle flowers tighter in his hands.

“Oh boy, Harry...” Neville dragged his eyes down to the flowers and back at Harry, “you’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, protectively covering the flowers with his arm.

“Well those are Honeysuckles,” Neville said, shooting him a wink. “Honeysuckles symbolize devotion, Harry. You must _really_ care about whoever you’re giving those to. I mean, they’re a serious flower, you know.”

His face must have gone red because Neville quickly held up his hands in surrender, “I promise I won’t tell anyone!” 

Harry felt his heart thudding painfully in his chest, and his hands became clammy and sticky. Neville walked with him to the castle, chatting about a particularly nasty Venomous Tentacula he had dealt with earlier in the day. Harry could barely hear him over the noise of his thoughts. Draco had given him a flower that meant devotion, and something about that tightened Harry’s stomach painfully. He hypothesized that it could have been an accident, that Draco had no idea what they really meant and this was all some unfortunate coincidence. But if Harry had learned one thing over the past seven years, it was that Draco wasn’t to be underestimated. He always knew what message he was trying to send and was deliberate about everything he did. Harry knew at least that much.

If Draco wanted him to have these flowers, Harry figured he knew what that meant. Even if it was a practically unbelievable thought. 

–––

“So, is it true, you can speak in Parseltongue?” Draco asked the next week as they were reading Jane Austen in the courtyard.

Draco was combing through _Northanger Abbey_ and he had assigned Harry _Pride and Prejudice_. Draco was, of course, hurtling through the novel, but Harry’s eyes stuck to each word like they were made of glue. They hadn’t been working on the Muggle studies curriculum much in recent weeks but found themselves spending more time with one another than strictly necessary. Sometimes it felt like more of an excuse to be around each other. 

“Yeah it is true,” Harry said, but his eyes hadn’t left the page. He found Jane Austen’s writing to be supremely boring, but staring at the words was easier than meeting a pair of curious eyes. 

“Say something to me.” Draco demanded; his tone was blasé, but his eyes were luminous with curiosity. He sat up straighter against the apple tree.

“Okay um,” Harry concentrated for a moment and then gently hissed, “ _You’re beautiful when you smile, and I wish you would do it more. I think you are pretty great._ ”

Draco beamed in response, “What did you say?”

“I said you’re a giant prat, and I hate spending time with you.” Harry grinned, playfully shoving Draco’s shoulder.

Something mischievous glinted in Draco’s eye before he launched himself upon Harry, tackling him at full force. The two wrestled for mere seconds before they rolled off of one another and onto their backs. The October air was cold, and the weather was grey with storm clouds. Still, Harry and Draco preferred to be outside. 

Harry stared up at the sky, losing himself in the smell of peppermint and Draco. He turned his head to the side and caught himself being watched by a pair of curious grey eyes. Harry was leaning in before he had even realized it.

“Ron, wait, stop!”

Harry’s head snapped in the other direction and saw Hermione tugging at Ron’s robes. Draco scrambled up from the ground and reached for his novel, although it had been clear they had neglected their literature in favor of other activities. 

Ron allowed Hermione to hold him back, but approached tentatively, his eyes widening as he grew closer.

“Erm, sorry, Harry, I-uh, we thought you were alone out here.”

“ _We_ didn’t think anything.” Hermione said crossly, glaring at Ron. She turned her gaze on Harry, “I told him you were busy, I’m sorry.”

“Now, now, Weasley,” Draco smirked, standing up as Ron postured next to him. Ron was bigger, but Draco was easily more intimidating. “There’s no need for a silly argument, you could have just asked if you wanted to join. I’ll be on my way.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and stalked away from the group. Harry stood, rubbing at his neck. 

“Harry, do you have something to tell us?” Ron asked pointedly.

Hermione groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Ronald, how many times do I have to tell you, he will tell us when he’s ready!” Her breath was growing irregular, which happened when she was stressed and overwhelmed.

“Er, tell you what?” Harry asked, genuinely bewildered by their intrusion.

Hermione was silently pleading with Ron through her eyes, but he hadn’t taken notice.

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it.” Ron shrugged involuntarily, but there was anger on his face. He waved his hand at the scene in front of him, “You and Malfoy.”

“Me and Malfoy?” Harry struggled to get the words out, but he knew what Ron was talking about now. Their lips were about to touch when Ron had walked in on their private moment. And he’d been hanging out with Draco for weeks, unconsciously avoiding his two best friends.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione exhaled. “What Ron is trying to say is that we know you and Malfoy are involved.”

“We’re not involved!” Harry bit out, almost hurt by the truth of his statement.

Betrayal flashed through Ron’s eyes, “Like hell, you’re not involved, Harry. You two out here _cuddling_ in the grass like schoolgirls.” Ron was seething, and Hermione stayed quiet. Her eyes silently said _I’m sorry_ to Harry, but there was only so much she could do.

Harry felt himself growing increasingly defensive. It wasn’t Ron’s business who he was or wasn’t involved with, and it was Harry’s decision when to inform them as such.

“I’m allowed to do whatever I want. I don’t owe you an explanation,” Harry retorted, almost cattily.

“It’s like you’ve just gone and forgotten the last seven years!” Ron threw his arms up frantically, “people like him never change.” 

Harry found himself growing defensive, but forced a deep breath because he wanted his best friend, of all people, to understand. “Not that you bothered to take any notice, but the war changed all of us. There’s no point in going back to the way things were before! I’m tired of pointless rivalries, all for what? If this is how you’re going to act, then it seems like _you’re_ the one who hasn’t bothered to change.” 

“Fine.” Ron spoke brusquely, “If you’re going to be like this, fine. Choose a Death Eater over us, see how that works out for you, yeah?”

Ron stomped off, though Hermione lingered behind for a moment. “Harry, I’m going to support you no matter who you’re with because I love you. Just tell us next time. You don’t have to sneak around, we’re your best friends.” She followed behind Ron hastily.

Harry’s head felt as though it were about to burst, and he steadied himself against the apple tree for support. He knew that Ron had lost so much to the war too. But, Harry and Draco weren’t together and it wasn’t anyone's place anymore to tell him what and who to involve himself with. Harry was allowed to do whatever he desired, after the last, however many years of his life had been an absolute nightmare. At least Hermione understood a bit better. 

Before Harry could throw his book at the grass angrily, an eagle owl flew overhead and dropped a note into his open palm.

_Meet me by the Whomping Willow after supper – 10 pm._

Harry recognized Draco’s neat and curvy handwriting immediately. His heart shot out of his chest. 

That evening, Harry left supper early. He sat with Ginny and Luna, who came over from the Ravenclaw table to join the Gryffindor’s group. Ron encircled himself with Dean and Seamus, purposefully laughing loudly at their jokes. Hermione shook her head at both of them. It wasn’t her first time being caught in between one of their fights, and she didn’t deserve to be put in such an uncomfortable position. Harry admired her for bothering to put up with the two of them at all.

He grabbed a winter cloak from his dormitory and made his way outside into the cold air. The night was as pleasant it could be for that time of year, but Harry was glad he had layered up. He found Draco by the Willow, giving it a suspicious eye and a wide berth.

Harry strode up to him eagerly, smiling, with his hands still in his pockets. Draco neglected to return the expression so readily, but he was still pleased. Harry’s head hurt once more.

“I have something for us.” He said.

“More flowers?” Harry laughed but felt warmth blossom through his chest at the thought of the Honeysuckles. He had put them in a vase in his room immediately, though he knew he would have to explain that away at some point. Maybe Neville would cover for him… 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, pulling an ornate box from the far reaches of his cloak. It opened with a soft click, and the first thing Harry noticed was the smell. The small plants in the box were earthy and pungent, and released an odd aroma that cut into the fresh air. Harry wasn’t sure he liked whatever he’d been brought, although the smell was familiar.

“Follow me, Potter,” Draco teased, and Harry tagged along behind him. He found that he would follow Draco anywhere if he asked so temptingly.

Draco clutched the box tightly as they ascended a hill behind the Whomping Willow. Harry had no clue where he was being led, though he found he trusted Draco implicitly. They walked for ten minutes before reaching the top of the hill. A smattering of weeping birches sat atop the hill that looked out gloriously upon the Great Lake. Their leaves poured down like water over their trunks, forming a clearing in the middle. Yellow flowers littered the ground below them, and Draco conjured a blanket to place on top. It was dark, but Draco cast a _Lumos_ and soft light filtered into their little area. It felt cozier than Harry was willing to admit. They sat down on the small blanket, their knees touching just slightly. Harry hoped Draco couldn’t sense his racing pulse. 

“What is it?” Harry finally asked when they had both settled on the blanket. Draco had worked to keep his limbs away from the flowers, but Harry had spread out easily crushing a few in the process. 

Draco opened the box of green plants again, and the unpleasant smell polluted the clearing. Harry wrinkled his nose. “Muggles call it weed, which is a foul name for it. They ought to use its proper name Cannabis. It’s a specific strain from a family of flowering plants called–”

Harry laughed, allowing amusement to show on his face, “Draco, you know what this is, right?” Harry was surprised he hadn’t recognized it earlier, but he supposed he should have known. While he’d never tried it, Dudley certainly had and that smell lingered in the backyard of the Dursley’s place at times. 

“Well, from what I know, it’s supposed to get you high.” Draco said, “and after our little debacle today with your unsightly friend, we might need just that.”

Harry’s face soured, “don’t talk about Ron like that.”

Draco didn’t respond, but the point was clearly taken.

He set to work in front of Harry, using a compact box with spikes to grind the plant into a type of grainy substance. Harry had never seen the contraption before, and enjoyed watching Draco’s long fingers work their way around the box. He chatted mindlessly about his day, his studies, and the other Slytherin’s that populated his life. Harry let him talk, relishing the rough clicks of the box and the sound of Draco’s voice. 

“Draco, I have to be honest. I wouldn’t peg you as the type to use drugs.” He said eventually. 

“I’m not.” Draco sat taller at that, preening happily. “But this is something common among Muggles, so it’s purely for educational purposes. Blaise was dying for me to share, but I wouldn’t trust him with my secrets while I’m incapacitated and suggestible.”

“But you’d trust me?” Harry watched as Draco rolled the green powder into a waxy paper, and then rolled a few more. _Joints_ , he remembered Dudley calling them.

“More than Zabini, at least.” Draco snorted, “never trust a Slytherin.”

“I trust you, and you’re a Slytherin,” Harry said with fervor, and Draco’s eyes widened at the confession. He didn’t bother to respond and continued working the joints together.

Once the joints were rolled, Draco handed Harry one. They put them in between their lips and spoke out _Incendio_ together. The joints lit warmly in their mouths. Harry took an experimental inhale, and found the thick smoke sat uncomfortably in his airways. The unpleasant taste in his mouth didn’t do much to help. He coughed on the exhale, but Draco only let out a breathy sigh. 

“They don’t taste great, do they?” Draco asked, grimacing at the object between his fingers. He sniffed at it tentatively, “doesn’t smell great either.” 

“Hopefully it works, otherwise we’ll have subjected ourselves to this for nothing,” Harry let out a laugh, but it evolved into a slow cough. He conjured a cup, and muttered an _Augamenti_. Draco reached for a sip when Harry wasn’t looking. 

Ultimately, Harry found the trick was to hold the air deep inside of his lungs for some time before exhaling.

The effect was almost immediate after that. Harry’s eyes were drooping contentedly, and his entire body felt relaxed and warm, like his first day at the Burrow. He was nowhere near as out of control of his body as he thought he might be, but he felt lighter like a heavy stone had been removed from his stomach. Something in the air felt hopeful.

“How do you feel?” He asked Draco cautiously. His mouth was dry. 

Draco gave me a lazy smile, “I feel really fucking good.” 

Harry grinned back at him, tossing the end of his joint into the box, and sprawled out on his back on the soft blanket. A moment passed, and Draco joined him. Their legs were pressed close together, and Harry could feel the humming of Draco’s pulse against his own. He had never seen Draco so relaxed before, so open. 

“What are we doing?” Draco asked softly, but the question wasn’t tinged with sadness or fear. He just put it out there, as if he were asking what the weather was like.

Harry’s mind went to a happy place first. Before he knew it, he was sitting up slowly and bending over on top of the blonde. He reached down and experimentally planted his mouth on Draco’s. The first thing he thought was that they were nothing like Ginny’s. Draco’s were somehow softer, but his lips were thinner. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the high or his subconscious, but he instinctively pressed harder at Malfoy’s mouth and teased the boy’s lips apart. Draco’s hands went to his hair immediately, tangling in a mess of brown curls. He pulled sharply, and Harry let out a soft moan into his mouth. It felt so unbelievably right, like the best thing Harry had known in the entire universe. Draco kissed him back feverishly. Harry loved every second of it, how Draco’s tongue explored the back of his mouth and the way he found himself groaning into every little touch.

Before he knew it, Harry was removing his cloak, letting it fall behind him, and reaching to pull his shirt from his body. Draco was doing the same, and Harry pushed him back down once he was finished to take a moment and admire his long and lean body. He kissed down the line of Draco’s bare chest, pausing just before his belt buckle. Harry glanced up at Draco for permission, and with a desperate nod of acceptance, Harry pulled the belt free from his trousers.

Draco’s cock bobbed out enthusiastically, and Harry had to suppress a groan. Of course, it would be long and lean and perfect, everything about Malfoy was fucking perfect. Harry teasingly licked over the tip and tasted pre-come against his tongue. Draco was writhing beneath him. He swiped his tongue once more over the blonde, letting the salty taste sit heavy on his taste buds. 

“Harry get on with it, _please_ ,” he breathed out, and Harry enclosed his mouth around Draco entirely. Draco gasped, and Harry felt his own trousers tighten uncomfortably at the sound.

He went back for more, gaining confidence at the affirmative noises, and took the whole head into his mouth, playing gently with the tip and swirling his tongue roughly along the shaft. Draco cried out, squeezing his eyes tight as Harry licked and sucked at him from below. He pushed further down along Draco, feeling something hit the back of his throat, and hollowed his cheeks instinctually.

“I-Harry, I want you,” Draco choked out, “I want you inside of me.”

In an instant, Draco had shucked away his trousers and flipped Harry onto his back. He watched as Draco pulled Harry’s own pants down to reveal himself already hard and leaking. Draco was red and flushed, and Harry was so painfully turned on at the sight of how disheveled he was. He never got to see Draco like this, and it was doing wonders for his imagination.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Draco asked as he conjured a small bowl of lube on the blanket.

Harry nodded his head. It was a... half-truth? He had been with Ginny sexually, but he’d never been with a man before, not like this. 

Draco took control, tugging at Harry’s cock with a few lazy but deliberate strokes.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep on like that,” Harry slurred, high from the Cannabis and the sight of Draco’s fingers rubbing at him so gently.

“Oh, you better.”

Harry sat up, taking some of the lube from the bowl and circled slowly around Draco’s entrance. Draco had moved up to meet him, and their chests were pressed together as Harry’s slick finger slid in carefully. He left it there for a moment, allowing Draco to get accustomed to the feeling. His grey eyes were wild with pleasure and desire, and Harry could come right there. Draco looked beautiful, so willing. He pumped in and out a few times, after adding more fingers until Draco was stretched and whimpering around him.

Draco hurriedly pushed Harry to the ground once more, so he was lying flat on his back. Without another moment of hesitation, Draco sank down gently onto Harry’s cock, his legs shaking in the process. Draco cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure against the width of Harry. And Harry’s vision exploded into black spots and stars, and he could feel a tug in his lower abdomen, almost like he was going to apparate. He watched raptly as Draco fucked himself up and down, moaning obscenely in the process.

If this was sex, then Harry had never had it. 

“Oh fuck, fuck Harry. Fuck this is so, _oh_ yes, Merlin.” Draco littered swears into the area, slowly rising up and down on top of Harry. Of course, Draco would be a loud shag, Harry thought. Beads of sweat trickled down his torso as Harry pulled steadily at Draco’s cock in sync with Draco’s movements. He was witnessing something absolutely filthy, and he wished he could die, with the image of Draco so full like this, etched into his memory forever.

Moonlight shone down on the pair from the sky above, but it set Draco’s skin aglow. Harry ran his fingers along Draco’s spine, drinking in the scent of peppermint and riding out his high in the best possible way.

“Oh,” Harry breathed out, fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He wanted to see Draco like this every day and refused to miss a single moment. “You’re so fucking beautiful, I hope you know that.”

Draco flushed a rosy pink, and bent forward to press his lips against Harry’s forehead in response.

Harry sat up, with Draco still firmly around his cock, and pushed a tender kiss to Draco’s lips. The blonde was still sitting softly in his lap, lifting up and slamming back down on Harry with a force. Harry sucked and nipped at Draco’s neck, allowing himself to be lost in the sensation and the movements of his partner’s body. He felt a familiar build of unreleased pressure from deep inside of himself.

“Draco, ah fuck, I’m gonna–” Harry thrust hard inside of Draco until he finished, coming with a drawn-out moan as a kaleidoscope of sensation exploded from inside him. He felt so unbelievably close to Draco, and something unspoken and ethereal bloomed from within his chest. This was more than just sex.

Draco came seconds later, fucking himself roughly through his climax, crying out loudly into Harry’s shoulder.

They sat in silence for a minute, as Harry softened inside of Draco, but neither of them dared to move. If they moved, they’d have to acknowledge what had just happened. Finally, minutes later, Draco clambered off of Harry’s lap. They dressed in silence.

Reality shattered around Harry as he realized what he had done. He would never be able to explain this to his friends, let alone maintain his friendship with Draco. They were kidding themselves if they believed they could hide this any longer.

“Listen, er, Malfoy. I feel sick. I think I– I think I have to go.” Harry stammered, but gathered his things and took off running down the hill. It was a coward’s move, Harry knew that, but he couldn’t stand there for a moment longer. Once the high wore off, he’d be faced with the consequences of his actions, and he would rather do anything but that. 

Harry stumbled into bed that night, confused. Being with Draco had been incomparable to anything he had ever experienced before. He had never known love and lust so intertwined like that. It was as if everyone else had been practice, and this, _this_ was the real thing. Even still, Harry couldn’t believe what he had just done. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to let Draco go. 

It was only when sleep was pulling him in fast that Harry realized he’d called him Malfoy and left him alone on the hill.

Harry opened a bleary eye to find his curtains pulled back and sunshine seeping in through the windows. Someone was standing over his bed. Fiery red hair was an immediate giveaway.

“Ron?” Harry mumbled, feeling around the nightstand for his glasses. When he managed to wrangle them onto his face, his best friend sat cautiously on the edge of his bed.

“Harry, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry.” Ron looked sheepish, and Harry could now see Hermione standing in the entranceway to the boy’s tower. There was no doubt in his mind that she had pressured Ron to settle things with Harry, even if the argument wasn’t going to last forever. “I really am sorry. Hermione talked to me, and she’s right; it’s really not my place to judge whatever you do.”

Harry offered a broad smile, clapping Ron on the back. “S’okay.” He said, sleep still clouding his words.

“I want you to be able to tell me anything, without thinking I’m going to resent you or get mad.” Ron said firmly, “I want you to know that” 

“I do!” Harry smiled back at Ron, feeling a rush of warmth creep up his body. It was only destroyed once more by the realities of his previous night. 

Hermione approached Harry’s bed when it was clear that no other boys were in the room. It must have been late in the day that the place had emptied out so quickly.

“So now that this is all cleared up,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron and fixed a prudent gaze upon Harry instead. “Are you and Malfoy together?”

Harry knew this was his chance to tell them what had happened. And it would test the strengths of his and Ron’s friendship once more. But Harry was aware that if he couldn’t open up with them now, he never would. He took a deep breath into his chest and told them what transpired the night before.

Ron’s appeared as though someone had stunned him. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, “this is all a practical joke right. You’re kidding.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, but her mouth remained shut in a tight line. “Ron, I don’t think he is kidding.”

“Bloody hell. We just made up, so I’m just going to pretend not to be mad.”

Harry looked down at his hands, self-consciously.

“Harry, I know this isn’t the part of the story I should be focusing on, but you really should not take drug use lightly. What if you get addicted? You know that stuff is banned in the Muggle world for a reason.” She shook her head exasperatedly, putting her hand to her forehead. “That was reckless!” 

“Hermione, that’s not important right now! I mean it was one thing to get with my sister, but this,” Ron, surprisingly, didn’t seem upset, just baffled. “Well this is not something I expected at all.”

Harry could tell he was trying to be polite and struggled to find the words to speak.

“I really like him,” Harry said, his words almost a whisper as if he were afraid to say them out loud.

“I’ve always noticed there seems to be a fine line between love and obsession,” Hermione said seriously, but even she didn’t seem too upset with Harry either. He wondered if he was still dreaming. “But you know, if he calls me the m-word again, I’ll expect you to hex him.”

“I don’t think he’d dare,” Harry laughed, a sense of relief coloring his voice. “He’s changed a lot since the war. He still has a lot to work on, but he’s trying. I know he is.”

Ron nodded along to his words but held Hermione’s hand uncertainly as if he were nervous.

Harry knew the answer before he asked, but he needed to be sure. “Ron, you’re not acting like this because I’m bi–”

Ron interrupted Harry’s question quickly, “Bloody hell, no, It’s not at all the fact that he’s a boy. Malfoy’s just… _Malfoy_. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to him, but we love you and we’ll try.”

“And, despite some things that have been said in the past,” Hermione nudged Ron gently at that, “we trust your judgment.”

She kicked off her shoes and sat cross-legged in the middle of Harry’s bed. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Er, I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Last night, I kind of just ran away after everything. I didn’t really mean to, I just got overwhelmed and thought I could figure it all out later.”

“Oh mate,” Ron chuckled half-heartedly, sharing a knowing gaze with Hermione.

“What?” Harry asked irately. “What did I do?”

“Harry, we love you, but you can be so absolutely dense sometimes,” Hermione said, but her tone was affectionate.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, and I thought he might’ve needed space! I don’t know if he even _likes_ me.”

Ron gave Harry an amused look. “Harry he obviously _likes_ you if he let you inside of him–”

“Ew, Ron, please spare us.” Hermione wrinkled her nose along with Harry.

“You think he likes me?” Harry asked, feeling hope bloom in his chest.

“Yes, God, he likes you!” Hermione cried, flinging her hands around in the air. “Can’t you see it? And you just left him there like he meant nothing to you, Harry. If someone did that to me, I’d feel so used. You have to go and talk to him.”

“Yeah, mate. I know I’m not the best at these things, but you fucked this one up a bit. You should apologize.” Ron said, distractedly examining a strand of ginger hair.

After dressing, Harry found himself kicking around the corridor by the dungeons, trying to practice what to say. He had desperately wanted Ron and Hermione to accompany him for moral support, though he knew Draco would have a full-blown aneurysm if they were anywhere near him while Harry attempted an apology.

He wasn’t even sure exactly what to say, as he had only just realized that morning how badly he’d messed up. He was afraid Draco wouldn’t forgive him.

Finding confidence within himself, Harry turned the corner intending to wait outside the entryway until Draco emerged, or maybe even bang on the wall until someone let him in. He had spotted Draco on the Marauder’s Map only moments before leaving the Gryffindor common room and figured he wouldn’t have gone anywhere during that time. Harry had woken too late to notice if he had been to breakfast.

Harry startled when, with a soft groan, the stone wall separated gratingly, and two figures stepped out. Harry recognized Parkinson and Zabini, followed by a blonde boy he didn’t know. His heart had leaped for a moment, mistaking the kid for Draco. But the one in front of him was quite a bit younger and had an unpleasant turmeric-like hue to his hair. It was nothing like Draco’s striking silvery platinum.

“Potter,” Parkinson spat, rounding on him immediately. She was much shorter than him, by almost a foot, but her anger was intimidating.

Harry took a wary step back, as Zabini and the unidentified boy turned to look at him too. Zabini snapped his fingers and whispered something under his breath, and the kid bolted back between the walls. With both of their gazes pouring like heavy concrete over his body, Harry felt especially small.

Parkinson’s eyes were frenzied, but Zabini remained collected and calm. Perhaps this was why he was much more frightening to Harry than she was.

“Potter,” Zabini said, distaste dripping from his voice. “You are here for what reason?”

“I, er,” Harry hesitated but forced his fear down. “I was hoping to talk to Dra–Malfoy.”

“You think we would ever let you talk to him after whatever stunt you pulled yesterday!” Parkinson’s eyes flashed with anger. She looked at Harry as if he were a bit of scum on her shoe. “You are absolutely pathetic, coming over here.”

Harry noticed her charcoal eyeliner made her sharp features appear harsher than they probably were, but he disliked her all the same.

Zabini tapped Parkinson shortly, and she huffed, heading back into the Slytherin common room. Harry felt even more uncomfortable alone in Zabini’s presence.

“I will not claim to know what you and Draco have going on between yourselves,” Zabini said coolly, though hostility punctuated his tone. “What I do know is what whatever you did last night hurt him. And you know how Slytherin’s handle people who hurt them? They hurt them back and then push them away. Is that what you want, Potter?”

Harry gulped, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I honestly wasn’t thinking.”

“I suggest next time you give thinking a try.” Zabini’s words were harsh, but Harry knew he needed to hear them. “You and your little Gryffindor friends may not think so, but we suffered through the war too. We are people too.”

Harry wanted to point out that it was their parents who caused the war in the first place but found himself disinterested in arguing with Zabini over the past mistakes. It was true that everyone had lost a part of themselves in the war, and the Slytherins were no different. 

“You know...” Zabini shook his head. “Draco has no one anymore. And if you intend to lead him to a place where he believes he finally might have someone, only to pull the rug out from under him, I will finish what the Dark Lord started with you myself.”

Harry’s voice was faltering, “I need to talk to him.”

Zabini’s face tightened, but he turned to the wall in front of him anyway. “ _Cissanthemos_.”

An interesting password, Harry thought. 

The stone walls broke apart once more, and Zabini entered, motioning for Harry to follow him. Harry did, his eyes darting curiously around the Slytherin common room. It was furnished the same as he had remembered it from so long ago, but it was somehow livelier. Parkinson and the yellow-haired boy played a hectic game of Wizard Chess on the ground by the fireplace, as warm yellow light crackled through the hearth. Slytherins lounged on the couches in casual robes, reading, talking, and relaxing. A pair of young girls in Muggle clothing threw their heads back in laughter at something an older housemate had said. Harry found himself noticing that the differences between the dungeons and his own common room were few and far between. 

He garnered a few scowls from suspicious Slytherins, but most of them acknowledged his presence and returned to their activities. Harry was astonished by the camaraderie they seemed to have with one another in their home but hid so well outside of it.

Harry followed Zabini out into a short hallway at the far side of the room. He took a sharp left, but Harry was still at his heels as they approached an ornate black door.

Zabini rapped his knuckles against the door, and they waited. A few seconds passed, and Zabini tapped again this time insistently.

“Who is it?” Harry heard a familiar drawl from inside the room.

“Erm, it’s Harry,” Harry spoke more softly than he had intended.

For a moment there was a pause, and Harry thought Draco hadn’t heard him. But when he went to open his mouth again, Zabini rolled his eyes.

“Draco, I know you heard him. Come out,” Zabini called out in an almost affectionate and encouraging tone. 

“No,” Draco said tersely through the door.

Zabini tapped at the handle, “ _Alohomora_.”

Neither of them heard the familiar click, and Harry took his own wand out. “ _Alohomora_!” Harry said with increasing fervor. The lock did not budge.

“Maybe you should give him some space,” Zabini suggested, gazing disinterestedly at Harry. “Sometimes he just needs a little time to mope.”

Harry trudged out of Slytherin disappointedly, and he could practically feel Parkinson sticking her tongue out at him behind his back. He had wanted to stay and argue until Draco allowed him in, but Zabini was insistent that he stop “invading Slytherin space” and just give Draco some time to process. If he needed space right now, he should have it. Though Harry was stubborn and already had plans to confront Draco at some point. He just needed to catch him at the right time.

–––

Mid-week, Harry was beginning to worry because he hadn’t seen Draco anywhere. He had avoided Potions entirely and managed to steer clear of the Great Hall whenever Harry was in it. He was becoming increasingly impressed by the way Draco skillfully maneuvered around Hogwarts unnoticed. Harry found that whenever he asked anyone where Draco was, they either shot him unpleasant glares or said they hadn’t seen him in a while. Ron surmised that Draco was being dramatic, though Hermione seemed to have expected this outcome.

“Harry, you slept with him and then just walked away without another word. Don’t you think that would feel like an implicit rejection?” She had asked him, and Harry had unfortunately seen her point.

So, on Thursday morning, when he entered the Great Hall and sat at his table with his friends, he hadn’t expected to look up and meet familiar grey eyes.

“Fuck,” Harry found himself saying aloud because he knew what he was about to do, and it involved a whole deal of embarrassment and probably a Prophet article. He’d always been told he was impulsive.

Draco leveled a glare at him, unlike any that Harry had ever seen before. But his resolve was far from shattered.

“Harry, where are you going?” Hermione asked suspiciously, concerned at the expression on his face.

He didn’t answer, leaving his things behind and advancing to the Slytherin side of the hall. Draco’s eyes grew wide as he approached, obviously surprised by Harry’s appearance at his table. 

“Potter, what are you–" Draco began, but abruptly stopped as Harry took his hand.

Draco tried to pull out of his grasp, but Harry wasn’t going to let him get away. Not again. Harry could feel dozens of eyes watching the pair of them, and the entire hall had ceased conversation. Someone dropped a utensil, and it clattered loudly in the silence. Harry led Draco out of the Great Hall, their hands clasped together, into the courtyard. He sat them down by the apple tree, and only then loosened his hold on Draco’s hands a bit. Draco pulled it out of Harry’s grasp angrily. 

“Merlin, Potter, I thought you were going to kiss me in front of everyone.” Draco let out an angry sigh.

But this time, Harry didn’t hesitate; he moved forward kissing Draco desperately.

Draco broke contact first, and his expression was wary. “You left me alone.”

“I know I did,” Harry said, “and I realize that was a shitty thing for me to do. I was just confused and scared, I thought you hated me!”

“I had just slept with you, you idiot!” Draco cried out, “I very obviously do not hate you.”

“That’s what Hermione said,” Harry laughed, but Draco’s face paled.

“Granger knows?”

“Yes, and so does Ron.” He steadied himself next to Draco at the trunk of the tree. “But the reason they know is because I’m serious about this, like really serious. I panicked because I thought we’d made a mistake. But that should be proof enough to you that I want you.”

“Harry, this won’t work.” Draco gestured at the space between them. “We can barely go a day without dramatics. What kind of relationship would that be?”

“I’m willing to try if you are,” Harry said pointedly. “There’s no reason not to. And when have we ever been able to interact without some animosity? It’s what makes us all of this great. Imagine if we were boring!”

Harry smiled, but it concealed a heart beating painfully in his chest as he awaited the answer.

After a pause, Draco smiled coyly. “I suppose I’m willing to give it a try.”

Harry didn’t idle for a moment, closing the distance between their lips and letting his head fill with the scent of Draco. He knew things wouldn’t be perfect, but they hardly ever were. This was something Harry ached to take a chance on.

“Hey, Draco, can I ask you a question?” Harry said.

“You can ask, but I won’t guarantee an answer.” Draco raised an eyebrow, elbowing Harry gently in the ribs. 

“It’s been bugging me for a while. What does the password to your common room mean? Sometimes I can parse out the Latin, but I had no idea on this one. Usually, Gryffindor doesn’t choose such odd-sounding words.”

Draco rolled his eyes in amusement. “Well it makes sense that Gryffindor does not. We Slytherins value our privacy, so we change it once a week. A different student selects the password, and it’s displayed in the common room the day before.”

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Harry pointed out. “Who picked this one?”

“I chose for the week.” Draco stiffened. “It translates to Honeysuckle.”

Harry couldn’t hide his surprise. “Devotion,” he said softly, entangling his hands in Draco’s, feeling warmth spread between their fingers. The flowers hadn’t made much sense at the time, but Harry felt they did now.

Draco looked up, hopeful. “You knew what they meant?”

“Of course I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come say hello at my [tumblr](http://sunnyeclipses.tumblr.com/)!


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